


This Just In

by Jemppu



Series: Months [16]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Art, Culmets - Freeform, Fanart, M/M, Tumblr, honey mushroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23820550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemppu/pseuds/Jemppu
Summary: Part of"Honey Mushroom"series of illustrated Culmets momentslisted here on tumblr, and of"Months"moments, taking place before the couple's ultimate Discovery mission.Straal delivers news, and Paul is faced with a decision.With illustration:"Mushroom Daddies" aka "Nursery"
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Series: Months [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1082124
Kudos: 12





	This Just In

**Author's Note:**

> The series gets released quite out of order, as inspiration dictates, so I urge you to check out the [series list on tumblr](https://tinyurl.com/honeyshroom) for a better picture of the whole.

## 

## Months: This Just In 

**“ _“In two days”_?“** Paul echoes the words spoken to him.  
  
After hearing all he just did, he is so ready to throw all the known profanities at Justin on the other end of the line, but manages to limit himself to just the usual one, “what the **fuck** do you mean _"in two days”_?“  
  
"I joined”, Justin states matter-of-factly., “Paul, I just told you earlier today I would”.  
  
Yes, but for real? The man joined Starfleet, for real?

  
“I’m leaving for Earth in two days” Justin continues with the tone that sounds far too casual for the things he’s saying, “now, as always, it’s just the question of will **you** join?”  
  
“ _"Now”_!?“ Paul scoffs in disbelief, "You told me today and expect an answer right **now**?!”  
  
“Paul! I’ve been asking for **years**!”  
  
“Yes! And I’ve said **"no”** for years!“  
  
"And I’ve accepted that”, Justin shoots back frustrated, “ _"for years”_ “, he adds in a mockingly imitating tone. "Despite knowing how it’s a major hindrance to our work! We have for years denied ourselves the opportunity for the research to reach it’s full potential!”  
  
“Because of your relentless, unwarranted disdain for an organization you’ve personally had hardly any dealings with!” Justin seems to be letting it all air.  
  
“No more, Paul, I’m taking this research to the next level, whether you can accept it or not”.  
  
“So, what will it be?”  
  
In two days? Day after tomorrow their lab will be at least half as empty as it is now? Will the gardens be half as empty too? Is Justin expecting to take custody of half of their kids as well? That Paul can’t allow.  
  
You can’t tear the family apart - many of the species they’ve cultivated have grown up together, formed inseparable symbiosis. Separate them now and they’ll wither.  
  
No, this is too much. There is no splitting the team.  
  
“And I suppose you’re thinking of taking kids with you?” Paul scoffs.  
  
“You suppose correctly”, Justin scoffs back, “Stella will obviously be coming with; it’s the whole basis of the work after all”.  
  
“The rest of them will have to stay: they have no purpose for the research”. Justin’s voice carries only a slightest hint of arrogance, but which unfortunately doesn’t go unregistered and is enough to trigger his currently high-strung partner.  
  
“This is not your decision to make!” Paul yells out the only thought he is capable to form right now.  
  
“Neither is it yours!” he gets yelled back, “Who do you think fetched Stella from the stars in the first place, Paul!? Who do you think sacrificed lives to get her to us!?”  
  
Fucking Starfleet did. But that shouldn’t matter, the Fleet had released their custody a long time ago. To the more capable hands too. And now they fucking want her back?  
  
“Do you even know how to fucking take care of her properly, Justin!?” the yelling continues, “Because I don’t think you do!”  
  
They have both had their individual approaches on how to care for the previously unstudied stellar species and handle it’s bursts of rapid growth. Which is fine now that Stella occupies two separate gardens anyway, where they can both apply their own methods.  
  
“Then come with, Paul! Come take care of her the way you do! It’s that easy!”  
  
Easy? To leave the kids behind? To begin with…  
  
Paul realizes all this shouting obviously isn’t very constructive, but he is too overwhelmed right now - has far too many thoughts racing through his head to make any real sense of them.  
  
He needs to calm himself down.  
  
“Can’t we talk about this still?” Like adults. He forces his voice to remain at reasonable volume, but the disdain still seeps through in his tone.  
  
“I’m sorry, Paul”, Justin states apathetically, “I’ve tried, and every time I so much as mention Starfleet, you flip out and shut me off or walk away”.  
  
Paul can see how that might have been true in the past, but if Justin just gave it a one more try. Paul has grown enough perspective since their last quarrel - he swears he has. He can discuss the matter now.  
  
But no. “It’s too late now”, Justin concludes, “I’m going”.  
  
The fierce frown now firmly fixed on Paul’s face is to hide his despair. The man can’t be seriously doing this.  
  
“Is this because of Amelia?” Paul then huffs with provoking contempt in his voice, in an attempt to still try and ruffle the man’s feathers. Not the most mature response, he realizes - especially after just assuring himself he can act adult about this -, but he needs to get **some** exchange out of the man, “She kicked you out of the terraforming project and now you’re suddenly so interested in our little mushroom study again - desperate for anything else?”  
  
Paul recognizes the irony of his words: he himself currently desperate for **anything** , as long as the subject isn’t dropped at this,  
  
“No, Paul”, Justin states resolutely. The man seems like he has no reason to give into the petty arguing anymore - he’s made his mind, “We mutually agreed to split up because we have our own separate objectives, and I wanted to be free go do what must be done for the research”.  
  
“You should be so lucky I chose you”, the man has the gall to add.  
  
“You didn’t choose **me** , Justin - you chose the fucking **Starfleet**!”.  
  
“Yes, yes I did. But it could include you”, Justin continues unnervingly arrogantly, “what are you fighting here, Paul? What’s holding you back?”  
  
“What’s holding me back?”, Paul huffs derisively, echoing the man’s words again, trying to buy himself time to come up with something. Justin has no idea, and this really isn’t the time to bring it up either, given what the man himself is sacrificing for this, but still, fuck the nerve on this guy.  
  
“It’s a fucking **starship** , Justin! You want to live months on end in some glorified cargo boat?” A reason too, but hardly the strongest of arguments.  
  
“Please, Justin”.  
  
Might as well grovel - the man has the upper hand here.  
  
“Sorry, Paul. I already joined. I am leaving”. For the third time now. The man’s mind is set.  
  
So, that’s it? There’s no discussing this? The fucker just announces he’s leaving, and takes their work with him. You’re welcome to join of course, but that means leaving most of the kids behind. And the decision has to be now.  
  
No. Paul is just kidding himself, isn’t he: there is not even a decision to be made here - not for Paul, not anymore - it has already been made for him. It got made the moment Justin signed on.  
  
There will be no mushroom research on Deneva after this - if even a fraction of it leaves with Starfleet, it all goes. They wield the power here: no meager, lone researcher would ever be able to compete with an organization the size of the Fleet, with the whole fucking Galactic Federation’s resources backing them up.  
  
And Justin fucking **knows** this too! He just said as much. He’s well aware Paul **has** to follow him now.  
  
What the fuck has the man just done!? How dare he fucking sell them out like this!?  
  
“I… I… just…”, Paul begins by stammering, but there are no words. No way to adequately express these feelings he has currently raging through him: confusion, anger, frustration, pressure… fucking betrayal.  
  
His brows do the only thing they **know** to do, when struck with this amount of uncertainty: they furrow ever more fiercely.  
  
He still wants to fucking **yell** at the man, curse at him, but knows it helps nothing. And, in a way it feels almost like losing… something. Dignity?  
  
And another, tiny side of Paul also finds itself thinking of losing **to Justin** , and how he refuses to give the man the satisfaction of seeing just **how** fucking much this is getting to him. It’s that petty, competitive side of him, that may help drive Paul forward in his work, but occasionally also makes him act less than gracefully - he won’t let it now. Especially with Justin, who Paul knows wouldn’t really be as petty as to enjoy something like his fellow man broken either, still, who he knows has that same small side within him too. And, damn, it has ‘won’ this round.  
  
“Fuck!” Paul’s frustration lets out, “I’ll call you back”, he says clear and cold to hide the true depth of his scorn, and with that the line closes before Justin will even have a chance to finish registering the sentence.  
  
“ **Fuck you, Justin!** Fuck you and your scheming ass! Fuck your Starfleet ass kissing sorry self and your fucking star trekking homewreckers!”  
  
It’s a good thing Paul isn’t a violent man, or there would be fucking teacups flying through the empty, darkened apartment.  
  
How fucking **dare** the man try to steal their project!? What gives him the right!? This is fucking absurd!  
  
There’s a painful sounding thud, as Paul drops his head against the kitchen counter he’s currently sitting by and stretches his arms out across the surface of it - only slightly pushing aside that innocently by-standing stack of teacups in doing so.  
  
He just lays there a while, still, his mind processing million details at once. Angles and aspects to all of this - trying to make sense any of it. He’s waiting for any stray idea to surface above the mess, to help him even begin to straighten his thoughts.  
  
He eventually raises his head back up again, lets out a deep sigh, and there it is, the first coherent thought, staring at him in the clear air above the chaos. And it has nothing to do with his anger towards Justin right now.  
  
If this was just between him and Justin, it would be so much easier. Not in any way pleasant still, but more straight forward: just accept to join, cram the lab - and what little he could take of the kids with - to a fucking starship, and go on as usual.  
  
But it isn’t. It is not only him anymore. Going off, Paul would be leaving behind a big part of himself now. The **biggest** part, it turns out.  
  
The part that belongs to Hugh.  
  
It’s a previously non-existing part, or so Paul had told himself. A part, which Hugh has helped him grow, by just merely existing himself. The part Hugh has made Paul **want** to grow, after a good portion of a lifetime of denying he needed it at all. And that part has now made Paul more of a man than he has ever been before, he feels.  
  
The part has now grown to be a solid portion of him. He doesn’t think he could live without it anymore - or even if he could, if he then could **do** anything without it.  
  
Suddenly that part, which he had finally accepted to even exist within him, and which he has been so thankful to then have - that part, which Paul knows has made him grow to be a better person - is now unexpectedly starting to feel like extra baggage. Something heavy, weighting him down. Or some sort of an ailment even - a tumor: something he’d be better off without, without ever having acknowledged it or let it grow at all.  
  
But he had let it. He had nurtured it and let it be nurtured, and now it’s of him. Inseparable. Like those certain species of symbiotic fungi he had also nurtured and let thrive together - without worry of them becoming irreversibly codependent.  
  
This fucking part - cut it off now and he’ll **bleed** to death.  
  
Still, despite all these unsavory feelings creeping up on him now, he finds he has no regrets. He wouldn’t change a thing. For what that part has given him and for what it has come to mean, he’ll gladly suffer any agony.  
  
But there needs to be more time. He needs the opportunity to discuss this new, unexpected situation with Hugh.  
  
He can’t just… leave.  
  
However, the doctor is at work right now and unreachable, let alone free to have a talk of this caliber. For hours more still. It’ll be tomorrow here in Deneva before Paul is meant to call Hugh, and they’d have the chance to talk.  
  
And Justin is out there right now, busily packing away their lifes’ work, ready to bounce.  
  
Fuck that rat.  
  
Paul leans his elbows on the counter top and buries his face in his hands. Fingers firmly digging into his forehead, hurting - but somehow helping -, and sure to leave some marks - but little does that matter.  
  
So? In truth? He then eases the grip to allow further thoughts to come through: even if there **was** time to talk with Hugh about this, there would be no actual discussion, would there? There would be **no room** for any. It would only be Paul telling Hugh what Justin had just told him - what Paul has to tell himself now: he is leaving with the Fleet. Who knows where, and who knows for how long.  
  
And wouldn’t it be easier to tell Dear Doctor after having already done it? That way there won’t be the question of _“should he”_ , when the answer to that already is _“he must”_.  
  
Eliminate all false hope.  
  
This should be settled then? He’ll go through with this, and tells Hugh in the morning. Right?  
  
Right.  
  
Paul taps the PADD screen to re-open the line. With surprising ease, he finds. He has a directive now, thus no need hesitate.  
  
Justin picks up.  
  
“Okay”, Paul states calmly, “I’m in”.  
  
“Great! Paul, this is excellent news!” Justin chimes with such fucking excitement it almost manages to get Paul riled up again. But his stoicism holds.  
  
The man has been waiting this for years now. Let him have his moment.  
  
“I can call up a conference with the Starfleet representatives for you right now”, Justin continues ecstatically, “get you enlisted and up to date right away”.  
  
“Really?” Paul lets out with a faint huff, “this late?” But this **is** what he was expecting, isn’t it?  
  
“Yes, well. It’s only afternoon in San Francisco, and they’re kinda aware this call might be coming”, Justin replies with ever so slightly guilty demeanor.  
  
Of course they do. It has already all been decided after all, Paul huffs contemptuously in his mind.  
  
“It’ll be but a formality”, Justin assures.  
  
Paul clearly managed to numb himself effectively to the idea and to this course already, as it seems hard to get him bothered by it anymore. Maybe he **should** reconsider - right now would be the occasion to do so still -, but outside of this set path, he’d be just as flummoxed still, too lost to form a single coherent thought. To come up with reasonable objections and possible alternative courses of action he’d need time to mull over this, but apparently there is none.  
  
It all just seems too easy. Way too quick. But, he’ll have to let this turning point pass him by.  
  
“Sure, why not”, Paul replies quietly, keeping his stoic resignation. What else **can** he do? Get signed, and get packing. Or be left behind with nothing: no work, no family, no home - what ever he had of each of those here.  
  
Fucking Straal.  
  
“Great! I’ll contact them and tell them to be in touch with you shortly”.  
  
Justin takes a sweeping glance at his partner and looks like he’s about to say something. But doesn’t. Paul recognizes that big brotherly look all too well - he can tell this was to check, if Paul would be presentable for Federation officers. Which is ridiculous: Justin may have had to worry over a lot of Paul’s shit through the years, but never has he had to remind him to look respectable. And neither does he need to now.  
  
“Okay then, good luck”, Justin waves his goodbyes, “let me know how it went”.  
  
_“What ever”_ , is all Paul can manage in his mind as he just throws an unamused look at Justin and closes the line. The man has no fucking right to smile to him like that, not with what he’s forcing Paul to do.  
  
And then Paul is left sitting there alone by the kitchen counter again. Not with anger this time, but with this overwhelmingly surreal feeling of uncertainty. And this apartment has never felt as empty and him so lonely as they feel now.  
  
Fuck, how he wishes Hugh was here.  
  
This was not what he could’ve ever imagined his day would entail, when woke up and came home this morning.  
  
Or could he have? After all, Justin was correct in saying that this had indeed been brewing for years now. For the man it had anyway, and Paul had just flat out refused to think what it would mean for him personally, if his brother **did** one day decide to leave for good.  
  
And now look where he is with that arrogance.  
  
If he had allowed himself to think of this before, could he have devised himself some backup plan? Some form of a second choice?  
  
But why would he have had to? Despite his distains, up until recently he would have been free to go. He…  
  
A buzz from his PADD interrupts Paul’s thoughts.  
  
Well, it’s all too late now to worry of any such missed opportunities - Paul sighs and prepares himself for what ever form of interaction this will be.

* * *

**The whole of the exchange** takes couple of hours - which seems somehow short for such a potentially life changing event -, during which Paul is questioned about his motivations for joining the Fleet, his past employments and affiliations, his health… all such administrative crap.  
  
And not that he would’ve often needed to answer any such queries before, but for the question regarding relationship status he - for the first time ever - gets to state _“in a relationship”_. Though, Paul can’t help but think, how it will remains to be seen, if that holds true long enough for his service to even start.  
  
At no point does anyone of the parties invited to take part in the conversation ask him anything of their research or share any info pertaining his actual intended tasks in the Fleet’s ranks. Paul would very much like to know some of this himself, but keeps getting the same answer to all of his questions: there will be more info on all of that on later occasions.  
  
This is obviously just some drone committee, tasked to probe the pre-selected candidate for the sake of formality.  
  
Just as much as Justin had said. The man himself has likely arranged all there is to be arranged previously, and Paul is but a plus one to those plans - a potentially disposable addition.  
  
So, Paul is just supposed to go through with this blindly? Fine. He’s come this far without making much of a decision himself. Why start now? Despite all, he still seems to trust his brother enough.  
  
And so he does. Going through the 'interrogation’ with surprising ease. Answering inquiries as vaguely as possible and as narrowly as passable.  
  
The challenging ones are the motivational questions regarding his 'desired’ Starfleet draft. Here Paul finds himself channeling what he can recall of Justin’s past rants, and it’s surprising how smoothly the bullshit flows through, when he’s not emotionally invested in the end results. It’s also unexpected how good a reception his answers seem to get, despite the originally passionate thoughts all getting filtered through Paul’s less than enthusiastic demeanor. In fact, on some level he’s even hoping someone would call him out for it and determine his pretentious ass unsuitable for Starfleet duty.  
  
But none do. What ever the present jury themselves may truly think of him here, appears to be irrelevant; they seem like they might have orders to just let this one pass through.  
  
And eventually, just as quickly as it had started, the meeting concludes.  
  
The last person Paul is left to converse with is some form of a record keeper, who dutifully informs Paul, that he will shortly be receiving a document file, containing a transcript of the occurred conference with all the most noteworthy discussion points highlighted, any and all other necessary info regarding his enlistment, and instructions for the further required actions from here on out. And if Paul would please sign and thumbprint his acknowledgement on the screen.  
  
And so he does, without pausing to think once, like signing off a parcel. The line then closes and a deafening silence falls upon the room, leaving Paul once again with only his own erratic thoughts bubbling up in his mind.  
  
How will all of this - **any** of this - work out in practice? What will become of him and Hugh? How will he ever break these news to Dear Doctor? What answers does he have when he does so, and will any of them matter anyway, seeing what he just did, without Hugh’s involvement - denying his Darling any chance to contribute to the matter.  
  
He has now done to Hugh exactly what Justin did to him. Worse even: there has been no prior warning for Dear Doctor.  
  
There’s a ding from the PADD and on the screen pops up a message with that logo Paul has hold certain resentment for for years. Some would view the symbol as a dynamic and trusty, adventurous even. For Paul it appears militaristic, oppressive and cold.  
  
It’s infinitely better though, if he imagines it as he’s used to seeing it lately: as something Hugh usually wears on his person - it’s Hugh’s brand of choice.  
  
He opens the message without much ceremony, and gets hit in the face with the gravity of what he has just done.  
  
The message validates all that had just transpired during their extempore conference - it confirms things Paul feels he was forced to accept, it details study courses and preparations, and physical and psychological evaluations Paul is obligated to attend, to fully pass as an officer fit for service and for starship duty. And at the very bottom the document bears a signature, which looks a lot like his, but feels like it was put down by someone else - he doesn’t remember agreeing to any of this.  
  
And indeed, below the signature it addresses someone Paul doesn’t recognize at all. Who is this _“Lieutenant Stamets”_?  
  
This stranger of a Starfleet officer - do they have a home? How do they stand life aboard a starship? What do they do for work? Do they have a sweetheart? Do they have a fucking heart?  
  
What Paul had wished for would come quickly, since the moment he ended his conversation with Hugh this morning - his chance to talk to his Darling again - he now dreads will happen at all. In few hours he will have to call his beloved and tell him of this betrayal. And how can he ever do that? How can he survive? How will Hugh?  
  
Paul has never been afraid of ending up alone. Hell, he’s expected it. Welcomed it even, in his arrogance. But he now realizes he is. And can sense the dread of leaving someone alone weight on him in a previously unfelt ways as well.  
  
It’s that fucking part he’s accepted exists in him - which he’s admitted he needs after all. The part weaved of love and compassion and need for companionship and all that crap - all the previously unnecessary emotions.  
  
Does Lieutenant Stamets have that? Could this Lieutenant Stamets perhaps be stronger, or less emotionally compromised, than what Paul might be?

Could the Lieutenant handle these things, Paul doesn’t know how to?

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts on the work posted along with the illustration on [**tumblr**](https://jmalkki.tumblr.com/post/177337931809/mushroom-daddies-aka-nursery-okay-back-to).
> 
> _Likes, shares, comments and what have you, all appreciated on:_  
>  _[ **tumblr**](http://jmalkki.tumblr.com/) | [**twitter**](https://twitter.com/Jemppu) | [**instagram**](https://www.instagram.com/jeminamalkki/) | [**DeviantArt**](https://www.deviantart.com/jemppu)_


End file.
